hear me out: youโre out with your girls dancing. the dudes that take up valuable space on the dancefloor to hold their drinks and vaguely nod their heads are long gone, driven out by the fervor. A man twirls his way into your group.
He smells good and his hair is in beautifully oiled ringlets. He has the vaguely sad look of an Eastern European gay porn star. He calls you โgirlyโ and cheers you on. You allow him to lovingly feed you a starburst that he seems to produce out of thin air, his fingers almost in your mouth. He passes you a colorful little vial, and you gratefully go to town.
This, you feel as the poppers make the blood rush to your head, is the beginning of something beautiful.
Outside, during the collective smoke break, someone jokingly refers to the group as girls and gays. โOh,โ this beautiful man says in a clear, lilting voice, โIโm not gay but I WISH I was.โ Then he asks one of your friends if she wants to go home with him.
Ladies, has this happened to you? ๐๐
